The Pacific (70 page)

ON NOVEMBER 2, 1944, MAJOR GENERAL WILLIAM RUPERTUS REPORTED ON THE fitness of Lieutenant Colonel Austin Shofner, who was on the division staff. In many ways, Shofner had improved. Most of the categories were now marked "Excellent," including training of troops, handling of men and handling of officers, and he earned a mark of "Outstanding" in loyalty. The provost marshal fell down to "Very Good" in cooperation, in intelligence, judgment, presence of mind, and leadership. For all that he liked about Shofner, Rupertus believed that "as previously reported, his experience as a POW has made this individual highly excitable." While Shofner's incarceration had "not affected his courage or devotion to duty," the general recommended more recuperation for Shofner before he again saw combat. General Rupertus wrote the fitness report on the day he himself was relieved of his command and summarily shipped stateside for his own failure on Peleliu.

Soon after his return to Pavuvu, Shofner also received a letter from the office of the Commandant of the Marine Corps regarding his claim for reimbursement of the personal property he had been forced to abandon in Olongapo on Christmas Day 1941. While his personal clothing, including a number of exotic items, such as a white sharkskin suit, fell within the corps' guidelines, a lot of items did not appear on the "approved schedule of allowances," including the selection of women's lace negligees, the collection of women's handbags, and the elegant household items like the carved ivory elephants. The director of personnel had decided not to factor in the "depreciation" that Shofner had included in his claim, however, and awarded him every last cent of the claim, $2,621.90.

Lieutenant Colonel Shofner had a visit from one of his former sergeants, Hank Boyes of K/3/5. Hank had recovered from his wounds and had come to ask for help. Sergeant Boyes told Shifty a story about D-day, when he had used a tank to clear out some key enemy emplacements. "I got up on the tank," Boyes reported, "and told him [the tank commander] we were K-3rd but I didn't say 5th [regiment] and he was still with us till 2pm and out of ammo before he found out we were not the 7th Marines."
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Put another way, Hank had used a little trickery to keep the tank around to help King in combat. When the tank commander, a Sergeant Meyers, found out the truth, he had raced back toward his assigned regiment, but not before Meyers's superior officer had noticed his absence. Meyers now faced a court-martial. Shifty enjoyed Hank's story and was happy to tell Meyers's CO that his tanker had not been derelict in his duty. The charges against Meyers were thrown out.

PAVUVU DID NOT LOOK SO BAD TO EUGENE SLEDGE NOW. NO INFILTRATORS INTERRUPTED his sleep. In a rather amazing display of devotion, his parents had sent him eighteen packages while he was in combat. He did not reply immediately, however. He slept, munched on snacks, took two to three showers per day, and began reading some of the new magazines and letters. The
Mobile Press
had Peleliu as a front-page story.
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It stressed "the most crushing aerial bombardment" that had preceded the invasion. Gene would have noticed a critical fact that probably escaped most readers: the nine-day preinvasion bombardment had been focused not on Peleliu, but "on Babelthuap, largest of the Palaus." The newspaper assured its readers that the Marine Corps had "coordinated" its offensive against the enemy stronghold "with General MacArthur."

The Mobile newspapers carried a lot of stories about the U.S. Army's march across France, where his older brother Edward served. Among the many letters Eugene opened from his parents, one informed him that Edward had been promoted to captain. A letter from Sidney Phillips described how he had almost been killed by a hurricane at his base in Boca Chica. All of the personnel of the naval air station and all of their airplanes had been evacuated in advance of the powerful storm--all except for the marines, who had been left there to guard whatever survived. Sid wrote his story as if it was a hilarious joke.

Eugene did not feel much like writing. The Marine Corps' birthday on November 10, an anniversary that had merited an effusive letter a year ago, passed without mention. He went to see Sid's friends in H/2/1. He had to find out how Sid's friends had fared. Among the men he said hello to would have been Deacon, who had survived Peleliu and was waiting for a trip home. The 1st Division had never suffered casualties like it had on Peleliu and a lot of marines felt a similar need. All over the island, men were showing up at other companies to check on a buddy. Bill Leyden, one of King Company's riflemen, went around asking after friends. Some were in the hospital on the island of Banika nearby. Others had been wounded so bad they were on a ship bound for the States. Often, though, he asked about a good friend and "his buddies would--in the tent--would tell you how it happened to him and then you'd stare . . . and they'd say, sit down and they'd offer you a beer if they had a beer . . . because they knew just how you felt. And then you'd leave and go back to your outfit." Gene already had heard a fair amount about the fate of the First Marines. Deacon's 2/1 had suffered higher casualties in five days on Peleliu than the 3/5 had in thirty. As a veteran, Deacon had been shocked by the enemy's fortifications that had withstood the relentless pounding. Peleliu, he concluded, had been "Japan's Corregidor."

The first time Sledge put pen to paper would have been to capture some of the specifics of the battles of Peleliu and Ngesebus.
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The memories he could not forget, but the details would be lost if not recorded, and E. B. Sledge understood the importance of the details. After a few weeks, he began to write his parents regularly again. The belated birthday wishes from his parents began to arrive in late November and their love moved him. He responded in kind. The seashells he had collected on Peleliu had survived and he had them strung into a necklace for his mother. "I carried them through that operation & Ngesebus," he told her. "I hope because those dainty little seashells came from such a dreadful place that you won't fail to see their beauty and know . . . you were in my mind continually." As he was writing a letter to his parents, the mail call came. As usual, he was handed a package. It contained a Colt .45 automatic pistol--just the thing for nights in combat. While he shared the goodies with his tent mates, the .45 became "the apple of my eye. I care for it like a baby." The pistol represented the deep connection between them and their shared love of hunting. "Pop, I know I'm closer to you than many boys dream of being with their fathers."

November 29 saw another ship full of replacements arrive at the steel dock. A large number of the veterans found themselves turning in their weapons and preparing to ship out. Sergeant St. Elmo Murray Haney shipped out. After only a few days on Peleliu, "Pop" Haney had decided combat "was a young man's game" and taken himself out; no one thought ill of the forty-six-year-old man who had volunteered for combat duty. Haney transferred stateside after being promoted to gunnery sergeant.
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Richard Higgins, Captain Haldane's former runner, also received a ticket home after three battles. King's new skipper, Stumpy Stanley, gave Higgins their late captain's personal effects: a pocketbook, and flag, and a few other mementos. On behalf of the company, Stumpy ordered Higgins to go see Andy Haldane's parents. A lot of King Company gathered at the pier as the veterans of Guadalcanal walked up the gangway. "The Rubber Lipped Division Band did its damnedest," Stumpy noted approvingly, to give them "a proper send off."
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The band played the song they had learned to love in Melbourne, "Waltzing Matilda." It had become their anthem. Like the Old Breed before them, the "Canal Men" sailed for home, entrusting their 1st Division to the next generation.

The draft of replacements meant reorganization. Sergeant Hank Boyes became gunnery sergeant of King Company.
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Lieutenant George Loveday, who had served with the 3/5's weapons company on Peleliu, became the company's executive officer. R. V. Burgin was promoted to sergeant and oversaw the mortar section, which expanded from two guns to three. The mortar section lost Duke Ellington to a transfer and gained Lieutenant Robert MacKenzie, fresh from Officer Candidate School (OCS). A number of other new lieutenants joined the company, especially in the rifle platoons. Hank Boyes took the new officers aside one by one and said, "Lieutenant, I'm going to introduce you to your NCOs. They are good, proven men. You can learn a lot by observing and being with them and asking them questions."
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Eugene had not been promoted. He had, however, earned what he had long coveted: the reputation, as the saying went, of being "a good man in the field." The respect of his peers meant everything to him. Being a good marine on Peleliu was the bar to which all the replacements would have to measure up, regardless of rank. The new arrivals could not mistake the angry "1,000 yard stare" that some of the vets had, or their ennui.
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The replacements would learn who the heroes of K/3/5 were in the same manner in which the Old Breed had once greeted the Canal marines: by telling them they were unlikely to ever measure up. While every veteran of King Company had stories of courage to share, one name stood out.

In early December, the working parties finished carving out a new baseball diamond from the coconut trees on Pavuvu. They hung a large painted plaque on a wooden stand bearing the inscription "Haldane Field."
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Thirty marines joined the honor guard and fired a three-volley rifle salute. These thirty marines had been led by Captain Andrew Haldane during the "Battle of Suicide Creek" on Cape Gloucester, and had followed him across the wastelands of Peleliu and Ngesebus. Of all the dear friends they had lost, he was the one they had to honor together. Andrew Haldane had seen himself as a man fulfilling his duty rather than a career officer.
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He had joined the Marine Corps reserve while attending Bowdoin College, completing OCS in time to serve on Guadalcanal, where he had proven himself. He had fallen forty-eight hours short of his trip home. At the dedication of the field one of the majors from battalion HQ tried to say what Sergeant Hank Boyes later wrote. "Haldane was a very outstanding leader with calmness, consideration of all possibilities and the courage to carry out his decision. He certainly set the example and had the respect of every man in K Co."
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After the ceremony, the guys took off their shirts, put on their shorts, and the regimental officers played a team from the 3/5 on a beautiful sunny afternoon. The home opener at Haldane Field went scoreless until late in the game, when the enlisted men drove in two runs.

LIEUTENANT COLONEL SHOFNER LOOKED AT THE ROTATION LISTS HOPING NOT to see his name. He wanted more than anything to lead again in combat, in part because he was a professional marine and in part because he had to expunge the blotch on his record. Two things worked in his favor. General Rupertus's disappearance was one. The other was the looming possibility that some veterans of Guadalcanal would be required to fight a fourth campaign. It posed, as all senior officers well knew, a "serious morale problem."
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This problem was averted by a plan to rotate home almost six thousand enlisted men and officers. The plan, begun in early November, would take several months to complete because a man was released only when another arrived to take his place. When the process was completed, the division expected its ranks to be divided roughly into thirds. One-third of the men would be veterans of two battles (Cape Gloucester and Peleliu); one-third of one invasion; and one-third would have no combat experience. An experienced officer who wanted to stay, therefore, might be needed.

The transfer orders that came to him at three thirty p.m. on December 15 could not have been more of a surprise. The new commanding general of the 1st Division, General Pedro del Valle, found Lieutenant Colonel Shofner in the officers' mess and tossed him an envelope, saying, "Read it and weep."
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The orders notified Shofner that he would be transported "to such place as the 14th Army Corps may be located . . . you will report to the Commanding General, Fourteenth Army Corps for temporary duty as an observer or to perform such duties as may be assigned to you by the commanding general of the Corps or other competent authority." Put another way, Shifty Shofner had been assigned as a Marine Corps liaison and advisor on guerrilla affairs to the command of Douglas MacArthur for the invasion of Luzon. Shifty hustled off to get his bags packed. He and MacArthur were returning to the island where their wars had begun.

IN DECEMBER THE PACE OF TRAINING FOR THE 5TH DIVISION ON THE BIG ISLAND of Hawaii slowed. More weekend passes were handed out, although the only destination was the small, rather quiet town of Hilo. Their base on the Parker Ranch had a USO club and a PX, but these did not get a man very far from his routine. The marines played a lot of sports. Of all the games, getting out on the gridiron was the most dangerous. The rigorous training had them in top shape. They knew the pause meant they would ship out soon. It tended to make a man do anything--playing poker, drinking, playing football, or fighting--with abandon. Gunnery Sergeant John Basilone stuck to softball.